The Best Is Yet To Come
by Kameka
Summary: The first time Lana Hawkins and Peter Riggs meet. I've been told it's AU, but I hope you like it!


**Title**: The Best Is Yet To Come

**Disclaimers**: All standard disclaimers apply. No money has been made writing this or off of the characters. Characters are not mine unless they are original. Please don't sue me. I don't really have much anyway.

**Notes**: Just an idea I had while procrastinating on another Strong Medicine story I have. This should only be a one-shot, just to warn you. I haven't seen all that much of the show… and I've been told this is an AU, as in an episode there was a flashback of how the three met. So it's AU. Or it happened _before_ that meeting. It's entirely up to you. I just thought of it… and then wanted to get it out of my head.

This is unbeta'd but it has been spell-and-grammar checked. With luck, there aren't any (or many!) mistakes.

This is for the only Strong Medicine fan I know - Hope you like it, girl!

**Summary**: The first time Lana Hawkins and Peter Riggs meet.

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The Philadelphia night was cold, causing Lana Hawkins to pull her fashionable faux fur jacket closer around her body and huddle deeper into it in an effort to capture ever last shred of warmth that she could. It was late, the traffic beginning to thin out even on these busy city streets as people hurried to the warmth of their homes. Warmth that Lana wanted very much to bask in and enjoy herself.

"One more, Lana," she murmured to herself, her painted red lips causing a small cloudy puff as her warm breath escaped and met the cool air. She began walking on the concrete sidewalk; the exercise causing her to wince and stiffen muscles protested the movements. Sashaying her hips in a way as old as time, as old as her profession, she grimaced slightly at the tired, and aching feet trapped inside shiny black stiletto heels. "You can get out of them soon, babies. I promise. Then it'll be nothing but soft slippers and a warm bath for you."

A car slowed down, the driver checking her out before it sped up slightly, heading further up the road to a group of other people. Lana made a face, her face turned to it was half-hidden. Just what she needed; on a night cold as Hades' heart… the only johns around were interested in the little girls who belonged in school and planning their prom dresses instead of out on the street.

"Just where is the justice?" she addressed the sky as she shook her head and continued walking, her head down as she focused on the sidewalk in front of her. She didn't want to slip on the ice and fall; such a move would be fatal in her shoes. One couldn't walk the streets in a cast, she reminded herself. Not a foot or leg cast, anyway. "That ol' black magic…" she started singing softly under her voice. Losing herself in the rhythm of her movements and words, she didn't notice the battered car pulling up next to her.

It was the driver knocking on the window that caught her attention, the sharp sound conflicting with the smooth melody running through her home. She stopped, startled, and turned to look at the street, having half-given up and begun walking her way home despite her promise to herself. The car window slid down in a few jerky movements that were testament to manual control. Casting a longing look down the street, she mentally tallied the money that she had in her bank account before sighing and turning to the car. Sauntering over, she leaned down to the window, allowing her jacket to fall open and display some of what she knew was her best assets.

"Hey, honey. You interested in anything?"

"If you get in," was the short answer, the brusque order softened by a charming grin directed her way.

She walked around and got into the car, ignoring a sense of unease deep in her belly. After so many years, she just had a sixth sense about such things. It was something else. Something inside her was saying that after tonight… nothing would be the same. The question was whether or not that would be a good thing or a bad one. "We can get a motel room easy enough over on Crawford," she casually mentioned to him as she set her purse on her lap. A telling glance her way had her reaching for the safety belt, though she merely held it by the clasping mechanism instead of completing the connection. When she was working, a fast way out of a bad situation was more important than safety during a car accident, no matter how much damage they could do.

"I have something else in mind," was the answer. "If that's okay," he continued, casting a questioning glance in her direction.

She shrugged in disinterest. "Whatever you're willing to pay for, honey."

They rode in silence, Lana not one to initiate conversation with her johns when he obviously wasn't in a talking mood. Instead, she continuously peeked his way. His skin was pale and drawn, his blue eyes heavily shadowed. He was also too skinny, his clothing jacket hanging on his frame, a threadbare olive green that was worn with age. To her surprise, they didn't travel too far, eventually pulling up next to a building that had a cheerful neon sign proclaiming it to be Brenda's Diner.

"I don't…" she trailed off, looking between their location and her companion.

"I thought you might like a late dinner," he answered her. "I won't cook it, I swear. You can order anything you want, just to make sure it's safe."

She shook her head. "I don't get it. You picked up a hooker… to take to dinner? This ain't _Pretty Woman_, man, and I ain't no Julia Roberts."

He laughed quietly and gave the first real smile that she'd seen, lighting the darkness in his eyes. "I don't think I'm Richard Gere, either," he promised. "And I definitely don't have all the money to put you up in a 5-star hotel." He climbed out of the car and walked around to open her door. "And as much as I hate to tell you… you aren't my type," he admitted softly as he helped her out of the car.

"Then why'd you pick me up?"

He shrugged slightly, escorting her into the diner. "You looked like you could use a meal, or at least some hot coffee… and I felt like I could use the company."

She considered the words, standing still and blocking the doorway, before accepting them and moving inside. "I guess I can get behind that."

The inside of the diner was mostly empty, but they still waited a few minutes for a yellow-uniformed woman to escort them to a table. They ordered drinks and with a slight nod but not a spoken word, she pulled two plastic menus from their places between salt-and-pepper shakers and walked away, wiping her hands on a grease-stained white apron.

"Baby, if this is your idea of fine dining, you're right. You're definitely not a Richard Gere."

"Peter."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Peter. You can use that."

"Okay, baby. You can call me Lana."

"Is that…" he stopped and shook his head. "Never mind."

"Yes, Peter. It's my real name," she answered the mostly unspoken question.

The silence from the car continued after that, until they ordered the food from the scowling waitress. A hamburger and coffee for Lana, a salad and tea for Peter. Once she had whisked the menus away, Lana sat forward, resting her forearms on the table. "So, Peter, how's everything?" she asked like they were friends that had just met each other on the street. He gave a startled chuckle and she grinned. "You're just too pretty to frown, man. You should be smiling'."

He shook his head slightly, running a finger over the rim of the coffee cup in front of him. "I don't have much to smile about right now," he admitted quietly.

"Why not?" she wondered, not meaning to pry… but it was an honest question. "You seem like a decent kind of guy. Not that we have this whole great history," she admitted, "but anybody who'd pick up a prostitute to take her to dinner without expecting anything…"

"How do you know I'm not expecting anything later?" The question was laced with amusement, one eyebrow quirking at a woman he didn't know analyzing his character.

"See, baby, I'm what's known of as a sure thing. You don't have to butter me up with coffee or food or anything like that."

He shook his head. "I'm not interested in sex, Lana. Just a little… companionship?"

"An upstanding guy like you doesn't have any friends?"

"Lots." He took a long sip from his tea and then sighed, staring into the golden brown brew. "Most of them aren't even here in the United States," he admitted. "And those that are, are spread all around the country. The ones that are here… they'd ask too many questions."

"You don't want anyone to ask questions… are you in trouble with the law, baby?"

They were interrupted by the arrival of their dinner and spent a few moments adding condiments. Lana bit into her burger with relish, the hot food warming what the coffee hadn't. Peter, for his part, pushed the slightly limp salad around on the plate with supreme disinterest.

"Not exactly," he finally answered. "Not with law enforcement here," he elaborated. "I was in the Peace Corps. Most people accept them… but some places don't."

Lana cackled, her laugh spreading across the restaurant and causing other diners to look their way. "I'm sittin' here with an enemy of the state. Who would've thought it?" There was no response from her companion beyond the small twist of his mouth into a brief smile that never reached his eyes. "What's really bothering you, baby?" At his look, she shrugged and spread her hands to her sides. "You don't know me, honey. You can tell me anything you want, get whatever it is off your chest… and you'll never see me again. You don't have to worry about repercussions or anything else."

"A… good friend of mine was just killed," he spoke hesitantly. "It was an explosion."

"Oh, honey…"

"Her body was… it wasn't identifiable," he settled on, not wanting to say what truly happened. Lana could tell that it didn't stop him from remembering it himself. "They found part of her passport in the rubble."

"Baby…"

He shook his head, wiping at his eye. "Anyway," putting forced cheer into his voice. "Anything interesting going on in your life?"

She bit her lip, not used to telling anything personal to a man who picked her up… but this Peter was different, for some reason. She didn't know how or why, just that he was. "I have two boys at home," she finally answered. "They definitely make life interesting."

He laughed slightly. "I can imagine that."

"Ever since they were born…" she hesitated. "Ever since they were born," she started again, stronger this time, "I've been thinking about gettin' out of the business."

"Oh?"

She looked over at him, unsure whether she should continue. The open face reassured her that she could; he didn't look judging or proud, just politely curious and willing to be a sounding board. "I want my boys to be proud of their mama," she admitted. "I don't want them to continue getting' into fights at school trying' to defend my honor against school bullies."

"So… get out of the business."

Lana shook her head. "So simple… I've never been anything else, baby. I don't know _how_ to be anything else."

"So you don't think you can be?"

"I can't get a job at the corner store that pays anywhere near as much as I make now," she admitted. "I wouldn't say I'm in it for the money… but, well, I am. I have two hungry mouths to feed – hungry mouths that eat everything in sight. Two growing boys to keep in clothes. Books and school supplies to pay for…"

"You think your obligation is to stay?"

She shrugged slightly. "It's what I've always done."

"If you want to do something else… do it. Your boys'll be proud of you either way. You're out there, out here, taking care of them. They get that."

She looked at him before shaking her head with a laugh. "How do you look at life like it's so simple?"

He shrugged. "Karma." He pushed the uneaten salad away and leaned forward. "Listen, Lana, when you're ready to get out of the business… The opportunities will come along for you. You just have to keep an open mind and be willing to make the change."

"And it's that simple?"

He smiled and nodded. "It's that simple." Looking over at her plate, she gestured. "Want anything else?"

"No, I'm good." She glanced over at a clock hanging on a wall, almost blending into the faded green paint. "I should be getting home. My boys'll be worrying."

Peter tipped his head in acceptance, both of them standing. Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he took $25 out and laid it down on the table and started to move away.

"It's a lot less than that," Lana pointed out.

"Sure, but a big tip will brighten her night, don't you think?"

Lana laughed again. "You're just a regular Tinkerbell, aren't you?"

"Just call me the Karma Fairy," he agreed, holding the door open for her to walk through. As if remembering something, he reached for his wallet again and peeled off another $75, offering it to her. "Here."

She looked at the roll of bills and shook her head. "You don't have to pay me anything," she told him.

"It's for your boys," he told her, holding it out closer to her. "Get them something nice."

Her instincts warred with her gut. $75 was $75. It was a food bill; at least ten books from the used book store, money that she could put towards a college fund. But the man in front of her had already given her something worth more: his respect, decent conversation. Warm food on a cold night just because he thought she could use it. As she considered it, he shook his head, steering her towards the car and helping her in. Before closing the door, he dropped the money onto her lap.

He dropped her off where he had picked her up, not even offering to drive her home. She was glad; he'd been good company that had let her just talk, not judging her by her professional life or lecturing about the choices she'd made. She wouldn't want to be rude to him after the surprisingly good night that she'd had.

"Stay safe, Lana," was his parting before he drove away into the cold Philadelphia night.

She watched the car until the taillights disappeared around the corner and shook her head. Remembering his assurance that Karma would come around for her and she'd find something else, she shook her head and looked up at the moon hanging low in the dark sky. "Man, why do the craziest things always happen during the full moon?"

Beginning to walk down the street towards home, she began singing under her breath once again. Frank Sinatra this time: she was in the mood for some Ol' Blue Eyes. "The best is yet to come…"

**The End**

**Did you like it? Reviews are welcome, as always!**


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